


Neo-Figure

by ghostology



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: F/M, LGBT, Romance, Sci-Fi, Science, Transgender, and then it stops being cute, petekey, this is very cute, transgirl!mikey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 00:25:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 16,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5949024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostology/pseuds/ghostology
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miley Way is a sixteen year old trans girl living in Chicago with her loving mother and close brother. She is pre-transition but wishing to start hormone therapy soon.</p><p>Pete Wentz is nearly her polar opposite, save for his home in Chicago and love for Halsey. He is pre-transition as well, but is probably going to stay that way for a while, or at least until he can get away from his monstrously transphobic mother.</p><p>Luckily, these descriptions make both eligible for a new experiment being preformed in the Chicago area. Dr. Harrigan and a team of scientists have discovered a way to switch peoples' brains and decide to use it for the cause of transgender individuals. Instead of spending hundreds of dollars on surgeries, teenagers are being paid to participate in what is being regarded as Project Neo-Figure. The only thing they have to do is have their mind placed in a body of the opposite sex. All this and Miley gets a room with a super attractive boy who just gets her.</p><p>It sounds too good to be true right? It is just an experiment for a reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is back! I deleted the old version and this is a new and improved one, so I hope you guys enjoy it!

Are you a transgender teenager over the age of fifteen living in the Chicago area? Are you tired of constantly being misgendered or feeling dysphoric? Are you in need of two hundred dollars? Well, do we have news for you!

After many years of experimentation, Illinois born and raised Dr. Harrigan and a team of highly trained professionals have devised a way to swap a human mind into the another's body. This would make transitioning much easier and do away with the need for hormone therapy or surgeries intended for this propose, provided one may look quite different from his or her (or their) original genetic make up. Up to this stage, testing has been done on Rattus norvegicus (lab rats) that, while providing substantial results on the ramifications this kind of treatment may have on a Homo sapien, will not, however, show the exact effects.

In order to collect this data, fifty teenagers between the ages of sixteen and twenty, with express permission from the federal government and one's own consent, will be needed to complete research on this innovative procedure. Benefits of the success of this scientific breakthrough include being the you, physically, you always have been mentally and $200 for your willing aid. If you think you qualify and are able to participate in this trial, go to www.harrigananalysis.com and take a sixty question survey.

When Miley saw the ad on her tumblr dash, she had to rush to her bedroom's adjoining restroom to keep from peeing out of pure excitement right then and there, ruining her oh-so-obscure, fifty of a kind, grid aesthetic bedspread. In the midst of her chaotic, elation-induced furniture leap, she forgot to take her earbuds out. The mistake lead to an inevitable fall, her long, awkward limbs painfully hitting the hardwood floor. She couldn't be bothered to regard such a minor setback, however, and decided to inform her mother of the incredible opportunity that had graced them in the form of a little blue square, skipping out on the bathroom break.

"Mom!" Miley squealed and sped down the staircase, further worrying the already startled Mrs. Way.

"What happened?" she yelled in a rather frantic tone. Her son, well daughter now she reminded herself, was usually very quiet and soft spoken. She assumed some terrible accident had to have triggered her to act so out of character. She had the phone in her hand, ready to dial any emergency services necessary until she saw the huge grin on the rarely happy teen's face. Unless she was some sadistic freak and/or her older brother, Gerard, was injured, she figured it was good news.

"IsawthisadanditwasalllikedirectedattranspeopleandImightnothavetogothroughhormonetherapyand-." The words couldn't spill from Miley's mouth fast enough, or, in her mother's case, slow enough. An amused smile tugged at the corners of Mrs. Way's lips. She had never seen her daughter so worked up. Maybe Urban Outfitters was having a sale that weekend.

"Okay, say it again, but, you know, in words this time," instructed her mother. Miley took a deep breath and sat down in front of the kitchen computer. When they first moved into the new house, everyone was confused as to why there was a desk sitting right in the middle of the kitchen, but Miley suddenly felt grateful for how close and convenient it turned out to be. She already had Dr. Harrigan's website open by the time her mother pulled up a chair next to her. There was a link to an article about the experiment located at the top of the admittedly cringe-inducing page. Miley reckoned she could have designed a web page for this scientist that didn't look like it came straight from 2007, but there was no time for her pretentious views on graphic design.

"This lady looks like some sort of mad scientist," Mrs. Way observed, gesturing toward a picture of a middle-aged woman with graying blonde hair that did have a bit of a crazy-scientist-esque. Miley had to agree but, nevertheless, prompted her mom to read further. She nervously bit her fingernail after noticing her motherface contort into a frown halfway through the article. 

"Miley," her mother sighed. "This does sound like some kind of mad science. I mean body switching isn't actually real. That stuff only happens on Twilight Zone or Freaky Friday." She shook her head disapprovingly.

Miley felt her stomach drop, heat rushing behind her eyes; she needed this. 

She was not the type to go down without a fight, though, and was completely determined to change her mother's mind. The Ways were all incredibly stubborn and she hoped this trait would actually get her somewhere this time around. "But, mom! This sounds like an incredible idea, and I could say I helped the science and trans community forever. I would finally look how I feel and it would make me so, so happy." She gave her signature puppy eyes that no one had the power to resist, except for that one Tuesday that Miley failed a math test and Mrs. Nestor still made her get it signed. That was different, however, because her geometry teacher lacked any sort of compassion.

"But, Miles, you won't look like my baby anymore, not to mention how ridiculously dangerous this all sounds." Mrs. Way chewed her bottom lip. Though, she could see how much her daughter wanted this and would do absolutely anything to please her.

Miley was more than crushed. "Mom, I just want to fit in." She sighed melodramatically. No one realized just how hard and emotionally draining it was to be out as transgender in high school. "I wouldn't be called gay again because I'd be, like, a proper girl. You know? And, mom, it is my body, not the family body."

It broke her heart to see her daughter so upset, resulting in her agreement, albeit it was rather reluctant. "Okay, well, as long as I know it's hundred percent safe," she gave in, still trying to sound authoritative as though a sixteen-year-old hadn't just convinced her to let a complete stranger experiment with her brain.

"Oh, my God, I love you! Thank you times, like, a billion!" Miley climbed out of the office chair to give her mom a giant hug. "Well, I still have to take this survey so do you want to take it with me?" she asked, her voice being muffled by her mother's hair.

"Of course," she confirmed, as any responsible parent would.

\--

After entering his name and preferred pronouns, Pete selected the option for biological females taking the test. There were three sections, organized into twenty questions each. The first of which dealt with physical traits. He was confused as to why this was necessary, but figured that maybe all blue eyed people got fried by the machine like some anti-Hitler supercomputer.

A little pop up with an 8-bit transgender pride flag read, 'are you ready for phase one of the survey?'. Pete clicked the 'yes' button.

1\. What color is your hair (currently)?

He leaned back and took a sip of his diet coke. He hoped the whole test we be that easy.

Pete clicked on the question box and tried to form the words to describe the perfect midnight black hue with subtle ash brown high lights. He was proud of his hair (line) and not ashamed to admit it.

2\. Do you have any facial hair?

He wished. Pete shut his laptop quickly when he heard a knock that, if knocks could even sound as such, conveyed the utmost annoyance. He knew immediately who it was, solely based on the negative vibes that seemed to creep into his room.

"Come in." He made a point of sighing audibly. Before he could say 'my mother is a transphobic piece of trash', she was already chastising him.

"Do you know what time it is?" She reprimanded. Pete looked at the clock. It was only 12:05 and he didn't think that was terribly late, though he would not dare say. "What could you possibly be doing right now?" His mother pinched the bride of her nose in a way that struck him as rather obnoxious. 

"Masturbating," he offered, thinking it would be the thing that disturbed Mrs. Wentz the most. She scoffed and rolled her eyes.

"Young lady!" Pete flinched at that. "We'll talk about this later, please just go to sleep. Lord knows you need it with those gross dark circles. Why don't you let me get you some kind of cream?" Because, mom, real men don't use cream.

"Sure, yeah, whatever. Bye," he said and got up to shut her out of his room. He glared at the door, as if it was the wood's fault his mother was so strict. Maybe he was hoping she'd catch on fire through his angry gaze. Perhaps he hoped the door itself might burst into flames and give him the sweet release of his own fiery end.

He crawled back under the covers and finished the appearance section. The next one was entitled 'Now We'll Get to Know You :P' and Pete figured he'd rather choke on a fucking cactus than see anyone type that face in an attempt to be hip.

Upon completion, he was informed that, if he was in fact selected, he would have to spend a weekend in the lab to make sure his vitals were looking stable. During this period, he was to stay with a roommate they would assign based on the perfect, scientific match. Of course they would.

1\. What are your top three favorite bands or artists?

To which Pete typed 'only three??' and spent a good five minutes mulling over his options. He settled on Misfits, Blur, and, of course, Halsey because he had a small crush (borderline obsession) with her (he worshiped the blue haired goddess).

2\. What is your zodiac sign?

He was a Gemini and his two faces were proud.

3\. What television shows do you watch?

This section of the survey proved to be incredibly easy as well, considering he loved to talk about himself. 

Such a Gemini thing.

The last portion of the test was about medical information and Pete would be surprised if he knew half of the answers. He reckoned he was healthy enough to have his brain's memory forced into someone else's skull, and that was good enough. He finished the questions, answering as best he could, and clicked submit.

Thank you for taking the time to complete this survey. If you are chosen, you will be emailed any further instructions.

Pete took his time to close out every tab and erase his history, just to be safe in the event his mother decided to use his laptop. As he lay down, he felt a wave of nervous excitement come over him because, holy crap, what if this actually happened.


	2. Chapter 2

That following Wednesday, Pete scrolled through his email. He usually only utilized it for things of utmost importance, also known as tumblr and YouTube accounts. However this time, he had a relevant reason to use it; he was anxious to see if he received any messages from Dr. Harrigan. He frustratedly deleted all of his junk mail. Somehow, Sherwin Williams managed to obtain his email and was determined to get him ten percent off a can of paint. He couldn't help but feel slightly offended that the company disliked his red walls, despite the fact they have never actually seen his bedroom.

Unless, the emails weren't even emails at all, but viruses sent by the government to spy on him and his vibrant walls. Bush did it.

Pete completely forgot about his conspiracy theories when he noticed that he received a message from harrigananalys@usa.gov. It looked very official, causing him slight embarrassment at the email address he created at the fully embarrassing age of twelve.

From: harrigananalys@usa.gov  
To: p.weezy@gmail.com

Welcome to Project Neo-Figure

We have reviewed your results and decided you are an excellent option for this trial. Arrive on Friday, June fifth (5th) at 10:30 am sharp for your brand new body.

Attached were directions to an address Pete did not recognize, leaving him to ponder a solution for his next dilemma - how would he even get there? He didn't have a car and his mom sure as hell would not drive him. He hadn't even bothered to tell her about the experiment; she would be incredibly against the whole thing, just as she had been from the beginning.

From an early age, Pete never identified with femininity. The stereotypes society pushed on women all felt so wrong to him. Dinosaurs seemed preferable over barbie dolls and shopping. He had always been described as a tomboy, but to him it was so much more than just his behavior or personality type. Only in the past two years had he discovered the term 'transgender'. The idea of him actually being able to identify as a boy was all to appealing and he was elated. He soon after came out to his mom, whom he expected to be more supportive, to say the least. It wasn't even as if she were particularly religious. However, she did manage to find it "unnatural" and was appalled at the idea of "raising a tranny."

Needless to say, Pete didn't have the option of surgery and was stuck feeling dysphoric in his mistake of a body everyday. Though, he did have an amazing (and very gay) friend Patrick. He let him order binders and clothes to be delivered to his house and was careful to respect Pete's pronouns. 

Then it hit Pete. He knew exactly how he would get to the testing facility.

And that is how he got to be clumsily sneaking in through Patrick's window Paper Towns style at something like midnight the next day. He let out a groan that Pete assumed to be from having to deal with the likes of him at this hour. He discovered that he was, however, horribly mistaken as Patrick hastily gathered the sheets to spare Pete from what had the potential to be a very traumatic experience. He wished his mother were there so he could say 'I told you some people jack off at this time', but that might've made the situation significantly more awkward for all of them. 

"Oh, God."

"Sorry, uh."

"Yeah, um."

"Do you want me to wait in the hall or?" Pete half taunted, half seriously not wanting to be in his room.

"Oh my god, Pete, just, fuck, what are you doing here? I almost had a heart attack and an orgasm at the same time," he said, voice straining. Pete couldn't decide whether to be amused at his friend's embarrassment or repulsed by his.. problem.

"Can I use your car?" he asked. He'd have to save the teasing for later. He would usually be up for it, but he wanted to be on Patrick's good side at the moment, not to mention he was incredibly nervous. The feeling hadn't caught up to him until he crept out of his bedroom window earlier that evening. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and attempted to throw Patrick desperate look, only to remember they were both in a pitch black room.

"If you finish me off," Patrick negotiated.

"You're awful," Pete complained, wondering if he had anyone else willing to let him borrow their car at 12:15 in the morning.

"I'm only joking," he assured him. "I'm not even hard anymore, seeing your face fixed that." Pete put his hand over his heart in mock hurt. "But, anyway, what for?" he asked curiously. It wasn't everyday someone snuck in his window, asking for his car. Patrick just hoped he wasn't planning on robbing a bank or something along those lines.

"It's a lot to explain, but, basically, some scientists are going to put my brain into an actual dudes body-" Pete started.

"What?" Patrick whisper-yelled, making sure he heard the other boy correctly. Pulling off a huge bank heist actually seemed safer. "How? This isn't Freaky Friday!"

"Please," he begged. "I'm never going to pass unless I do this, thanks to my mom's transphobic bullshit."

"Pete.. Are you sure this isn't, like, dangerous?" he pressed, always having his friend's best interest at heart. Patrick really always had been the mother Pete wished he had; he was constantly looking out for him and his many poorly thought out plans. 

"Well, um, no. But, 'Trick, it'd make me really happy," he persuaded. 

Patrick still looked skeptical. 

"Fine, but please be careful. Please," he hesitantly gave in and it took everything in Pete not to jump on top of him and hug that angel of a boy.

"Oh, speaking of my mom, can I stay with you for a bit? Just until I figure something out." He felt guilty about asking a favor that inconvenient with no warning. "Because I definitely can't go back home."

"That would actually be kind of cool, assuming we don't annoy the hell out of each other. I'd have to ask my parents, though," he answered.

"Dude, you're the real mvp," Pete gushed. "Can I have the keys?"

~~

"Gerard, this is the forth time today we've listened to that song," Miley complained from the back seat. Her mom gave her a knowing look in the rearview mirror. She didn't understand why Gerard got the passenger seat and, ultimately, control over the radio. "I'm taller; therefore, it would be safer for me to sit there," she'd argued earlier but neither her mom, nor her brother were having any of it. So, she sucked it up and tried to make it through "Feeling This" yet again (she wasn't going to complain that much, because, come on, it was Blink-182).

"What do I do if Lindsey says 'don't get me anything for my birthday'? Isn't that, like, female code for 'you better get me something amazing or I'll cut your penis off in your sleep'?" Gerard asked, turning to probably the only other girls he knew. It had been nearly twenty minutes since he'd last mentioned his girlfriend, his personal best! Gerard's mouth was like a broken record player stuck on the word 'Lindsey' that ended up repeating it in annoying, scratchy sounds. 

"I'd recommend getting her a present," their mother said as she wiped away her tears, apparently entertained by Gerard's lack of relationship skills. 

"Gerard, I recommend dumping her for her birthday and dating Frank," Miley suggested, picking at her fingernails. His best friend was painfully in love with him and it was just a matter of time until he realized he felt the same way. "Just putting that out there."

"Miley, for the last time, I'm not gay," her brother said, clearly exasperated. He could tell himself that all he wanted, but it wouldn't change the fact that she had seen circles straighter than that boy. 

"But you guys would be so cute together! Mom, tell him that they would be the cutest couple ever," Miley insisted.

"You two would be kind of adorable," she agreed.

"Mom!" Gerard groaned and rested his head on the window. "You're not supposed to agree," he mumbled. He took his phone back out, presumably to text his girlfriend. Miley was sure that he was costing their mother far too much in phone bills.

She intended to point out the fact but thought better of it as they pulled into the building's parking lot.


	3. Chapter 3

The building was like Nicki Minaj in some respect: it was short and hard to look at directly without being blinded by the sunlight reflecting from it. As Miley walked in, she felt rather out of place in the pristine cleanliness of the entrance lobby. Then again, she reckoned even a mop might feel that way.

"Hello!" a fair-skinned lady greeted from a table set up in the middle. Her smile was warm yet firm and business-like. She assumed she was an intern, judging by how young she appeared and the rather unimportant task she was assigned. "What's your last name?"

"Way," Miley answered. There were an array of numbers scrawled on name tags laid out across the table. The woman reached for one marked #20b and handed it to the younger girl. "Put that on and look for a boy with #20a, that'll be who you are going to switch with," she instructed with seemingly rehearsed words. "Everyone is in the room on your right. I'll talk to your mom while you head in." Miley started to leave but stopped upon hearing the protests of her mother. 

"Oh my goodness, this is the last time I'll see my baby look like this. Come give me a hug," her mother said melodramatically. Miley rolled her eyes but leaned into her embrace, nevertheless. "Bye, I'll seen you soon, okay?"

"Let's hope you don't become ugly," Gerard added.

"Goodbye." She sighed, stifling amusement, and walked through the glass door.

She was met with nervous chatter and somewhat frighteningly accurate look-a-likes. She stood awkwardly by a hardcore pair of punk rockers, fully clad in leather and piercings. They appeared to be having an animated conversation on the dye chosen for their matching red hair.

Miley scanned the crowd but it didn't take much time for her to find her match. He introduced himself with a sudden grab of her hand and an excited "hey, oh my God, what's your name?".

"I'm Miley," she smiled. There was a weird feeling of going-to-puke and elation brewing in Miley's stomach. After years of being stuck in her far too masculine body, she'd finally feel right. 

"Nick," he beamed. "Damn, we should start, like, an alliance and fight crime with the collective sharpness of our jawlines."

"Don't forget the elbows," she joked along, comparing their skinny arms. The boy was much more of a conversationalist than she, but he was incredibly easy to get along with. She wondered if he had many friends who would have to get used to seeing Miley's face instead of his.

"Yeah," he laughed.

~~

"Hey, you must be the host of my new body," Pete grinned at a girl who was, surprisingly, even shorter than he. 

"What a weird thing to say," she frowned, throwing them both into an awkward silence. Pete used to opportunity beat his high score on Crossy Road while she messed with her badge.

"I think it's completely sexist that they they put men as the 'a'," she observed after a few minutes. His eyes widened a bit because this girl could not be serious.

"Did it hurt you arm reaching that far to find something problematic?" Pete responded. He was beginning to grow annoyed with her I-know-all-and-am-more-mature-than-you mentality. He shook his head.

"I just care about just and equal treatment of all genders, unlike you, apparently. God, you probably call yourself a meninist," she scoffed.

"I just think that you should focus on the bigger problems like how there's still a wage gap. They probably just flipped a coin to see who came first. You'd rather complain about something that's affecting no one, than help some issues that take a toll on the quality of someone's life," Pete waffled. You could do a lot of things to that boy but calling him a meninist is not of them. "Who shoved a stick up her butt?" he mumbled under his breath. 

She seemed to have no words for his educated ass and opted to fix her lip gloss.

"I didn't even get to know your name before you attacked me," pointed out Pete. He at least wanted to know the name of the person that would have the body he'd be stuck with his entire life. 

"Diane." She named herself after a suburban mom, God, help her.

"I'm Pete," he replied, abruptly putting an end to their conversation, though that seemed to be the opposite of what the gesture was supposed to achieve. Luckily, they were saved from yet another uncomfortable moment as a women stepped to the front of the room.

"Hello, everyone, I'm Dr. Harrigan. Welcome to Project Neo-Figure, an experiment made in an attempt to ease the lives of transgender people. The boy or girl wearing the corresponding number to yours will be the one you switch bodies with. We thank you all sincerely for participating in what could be a groundbreaking innovation and wish you the best as the right sex," she opened, causing murmurs to spread throughout the room.

"If you would head this way, there is a small meal set up to keep your body safe and healthy during the procedure," she instructed. As the group headed into the dining room, Pete couldn't help but notice how nice it was with a high ceiling and long tables.

He sat down to an interesting combination of orange juice ("raising you blood sugar will make you feel better") and tuna ("omega-3 benefits the brain"). 

After he somehow managed to down the food, he and Diane were seated next to each other in the lobby. Each pair of teens would enter the room and take almost exactly twenty minutes. Though for Pete, it felt more like a lifetime before they even got close to his number.

He looked up briefly from the fingernails he was destroying when a man in a long coat entered the room. It was a habit he picked up from his mother, so, naturally, a habit he despised. "Numbers nineteen a and b, please follow me," he said. The aura of the room was growing more anxious by the second as more and more people left.

Pete was no exception. What if he died? Not that he would mind all that much; at least there would be no high school in hell. Unless, of course, hell was an eternity of trigonometry class, in which case he would love to be immortal.

"Numbers twenty a and b." He watched a skinny boy and girl stand up to go into the presumed experimentation room. Pete mentally wished them the best. 

He did the same for himself as he and Diane were summoned some time later. Upon entering, Pete was reminded of a therapists office in the layout of the room. There were two couches in the center of the room with the thin paper on the counter of a children's clinic draped on top. On a table in between them sat a computer and more cables than Pete could count. 

"Biological male on this couch, please," instructed a man with a black ponytail, pointing toward the farther of the seats. Diane took a seat and Pete sat across from her on the other seat. 

"So, we're going to attach those wires," she gestured toward the clear tubes coming from the computer, "to varying places on your cranium, important areas of the brain such as the motor cortex. You may experience sensory overload or nausea afterward, however only for a short amount of time. To be the most comfortable, we suggest you relax as much as possible during the switch." The other man in the room prepared the two teenagers as the procedure was explained. 

"Are you ready?" he asked. Pete and Diane shared an apprehensive glance but nodded nonetheless.

Pete reclined on the couch and gloved hands started to attach the wires on him. He waited uncomfortably until he was informed there would be a countdown.

"Three, two, one..." Pete suddenly couldn't feel the cool of the paper underneath him. He only saw white light and then a tingling sensation took over. Opening his eyes again felt like staring directly at the sun from three feet away. Then, he felt bile rise. 

As he ran the restroom, he heard a "weak!" being called back at him in his own voice. Did he really sound that annoying? 

All thoughts cleared from his mind but holy fuck as he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He was completely unable to look away. His jaw and shoulders were squared and his chest was completely flat. He looked exactly how he was meant to be in the first place. He felt incredibly happy. He felt shocked. 

He felt normal. 

~~

"Hi." Miley turned around to face a tan boy standing behind her. "Guess we're roomies," he said, wiggling his eyebrows, and dropped his duffel bag on the bed adjacent to hers. 

"Yep. I'm Miley," she greeted back. The other teen's feet didn't quite reach the floor from where he was seated on the mattress and she had to keep back an adoring 'aww'. 

"Like Miley Cyrus?" he laughed. 

"Yeah. My name was Michael, Mikey for short, but Michelle seemed too mainstream. Thus, Miley was decided," she explained. 

"Michelle was too mainstream for a girl who named herself after a pop star," he observed, shaking his head. "You could've had any name in the world. Like, something so totally side-stream."

"Oh, my god, I'm not named after Miley Cyrus," Miley groaned. "Lady Gaga is way better. What's your name then?" 

"My name's Pete. After my dog."

"Dear god, you named an actual dog Pete?" Miley gawked. 

"Shut up," Pete chuckled. "Well, at least we have our lack of decent naming skills in common."

"And Ramones," Miley added, gesturing towards his shirt. 

"Dude, you were raving about Lady Gaga not two minutes ago," he pointed out. 

"Golly, Pete, imagine; it's almost as if people can like more than one type of music," she gasped mockingly. 

"Sorry," Pete put up his hands in surrender. He liked this teasing better than Diane's up her own ass act. 

"Oh, and, um... Could you not call me 'dude'. I don't like how it's linked with masculinity... and stuff," mumbled Miley awkwardly. She worried her concerns might come off as unreasonable, but she knew the nickname made her feel uncomfortable. 

Pete may have been an asshole, but he wasn't that much of an asshole. "Sorry, baby girl," he said more seriously that time, but adding a lighthearted wink.

"Please don't call me that either, oh my god," Miley groaned, thinking of the kinkiness it implied. Pete flashed a huge grin. 

A buzz went off and a voice on the intercom announced that dinner was ready. "May I, m'lady," he said overly politely, though Miley might not have minded the other pet name too much. Pete held his arm toward her. 

And they say chivalry is dead.


	4. Chapter 4

Miley nearly choked on her breakfast when Pete sat next to her and said "I can see your eggs."

"What?" she had asked, making sure she heard him correctly. 

"You have egg on your chin," he chuckled and pointed out the same spot on his own. 

Miley blushed and wiped it away quickly. "Thanks, I guess," she mumbled, recollecting herself. They continued to eat together in silence until a brown-haired boy sat across from them. Pete and Miley and exchanged a look, but Miley just shrugged. 

"Hi, I'm Ryan," he said, sticking a hand out. 

"Pete," Pete responded and shook his hand. "And that's Miley." She waved as she was introduced. 

"Well, we're not dead and our brains aren't ruined. So that's good," he said to fill up the silence a few moments later. 

"Yeah," Pete agreed and laughed. 

"Okay, do you know who that is? He's cute as fuck," Ryan said, pointing at a boy with the biggest forehead Miley reckoned she'd ever seen in her life. He was, admittedly, rather attractive.

"So you're gay?" she asked. 

Ryan rolled his eyes melodramatically. "Well, no I'm pan, but thanks for not assuming I'm straight like most people for down reason. Sexuality and gender are obviously not the same thing. Why is that so hard to understand? My God. Imagine me as a straight," he ranted. Ryan couldn't comprehend how some people failed to understand the apparent 'complexity' of this notion. 

"Sorry, I really didn't mean to offend you," Miley said, abashed at her ignorance. 

"You're good, fam. What about you? Are you guys straights?" he asked. 

"Tbh, I don't know," Pete said. 

"I'm a straight! Straight pride!" Miley joked, pretending to wave a flag in the air and wishing there was a way to say "!1!1!!2!1!!!" out loud. 

"Gross," Ryan teased her. 

"Speaking of gross, the fuck is this?" sighed Pete, picking at the kale omelet on his plate. 

"Kale: the most pretentious vegetable," Miley answered. 

"Wait, that's so true." Ryan laughed. 

There was a loud beep beep indicating an announcement for the diners as he attempted to collect himself. 

Good morning, everyone. If you would, please make your way to Laboratory B, to your right for a check up. 

"Well, bye," Ryan said with a wave. "I'm in room 115 if you want to catch me." 

"Oh, cool. That's right across from ours," smiled Miley. 

Pete and Miley watched him skip over to the boy he previously pointed out. 

~~

"Okay, Miley, sit right there for me," the nurse instructed warmly. She did so as she was informed that her vitals were being checked and what that entailed. 

She found comfort in the fact that he was telling her what he was doing, because both her and her brother shared a fear of needles, and, really, hospitals in general. It gave her the same unsettling feeling airports do, as if you're doing something wrong even when you aren't. 

"Rest your arm here for me so I can take your blood pressure," he said, moving her arm onto the table. He unhooked cuff and put it on her muscle. She tried to look unaffected as he wrote down her blood pressure. 

"And that was the last thing," he said. "Thanks, Miley, and good luck." 

As she walked back to her room, she did as best she could to block out the moans coming from Ryan's. "Oh my god," she sighed under her breath.

Pete was already in the bedroom, playing with his soccer ball when she entered. 

"I wish I could do that," Miley marveled at his bouncing it from foot to foot. 

"Well I wish I could play," confessed Pete, pointing at Miley's bass guitar. 

"Alright, I'll teach you bass later if you teach me soccer."

"Deal." 

"You realize you just essentially said 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours,'" Pete pointed out. 

Mikey rolled her eyes. "Not even," she laughed and poked Pete's ribs. 

~~

"Okay now put your finger on the first fret of the e string. The e string, not that one. No, oh my god. There are only four strings and you can find every one but the right one," Miley attempted to instruct him. "You're hopeless, Wentz."

"No, look I promise I can do it!" Pete huffed. He strummed and produced a horrible sound. 

"You have to put your finger on the bottom of the fret, I've told you that, like, three times already," she pinched the bridge of her nose. Pete laughed at her struggle and tried to play again.

"How about we do something else," Pete suggested, smiling sheepishly. 

"Like what? I'm bored as hell," complained Miley. Pete shrugged in agreement. 

"Well we could sneak out and get some pizza. Lunch was shit," he pouted, referring to the tofu they had eaten. They were both getting fed up with these healthy meals, and nothing could've sounded better to Miley right now than a large, Hawaiian pizza.

"I love the way you think, Pete," she agreed to his plan. 

"Should we get Ryan?" he asked. 

"No. He's rather, um, busy," blushed Miley, and Pete nodded, understanding what she meant. 

"Then let's go!" he grinned, grabbing her hand. 

"Wait, be quiet," she shushed him. "If they catch us, we won't be able to leave and that means no pizza! That is not a risk I'm willing to take."

He tip-toed the rest of the way down the hall while Mikey kept watch on the end. 

"Stop humming mission impossible under your breath."

"Sorry."

The pair hid back in the hallway as they saw a woman in lab coat clicking their way with her high heels. Miley felt high on adrenaline. The last time she broke the rules was probably stealing one of her mom's diet cokes. She reckoned maybe Pete was a bad influence. 

She also reckoned she couldn't possibly care less. 

"We should probably call in advance, so we don't have to be gone that long," he suggested. 

"Smart," agreed Miley, getting out her cell phone to call the Pizza Hut across the street. 'What do you want' she mouthed to Pete. 

"Just cheese," he answered. Miley threw him a thumbs up. 

She quietly made the order as the two looked around for a back door. 

Pete ran out first. "Ahh, fresh air," he sighed. 

"I can already smell the pizza," mused Miley. Mmm. Pete knew exactly what she meant. 

They walked up to the counter upon entering. "Can I help you?" the cashier asked. 

"Yeah, we have an order for Way," she answered.

"It'll be a couple of minutes before its ready."

"Okay, thank you."

Miley drummed her fingers on a game machine. "So, is this where you take all the ladies?" she teased. 

"No, only you get the finest treatment," laughed Pete. 

"Large cheese pizza for Way."

"Now, the real dilemma is: do we eat it here and risk someone finding out we were gone or go back and risk having to share this," Pete pondered. 

"You're acting like this is prison, it's not like they didn't say we couldn't leave," pointed out Miley. "Besides," she continued. "I don't give a fuck."

So she opened the box and took out a slice. There were very few things she cared about less than what cute boys thought of her stuffing half a piece of pizza in her mouth, so she did it. 

"We should do this again sometime," she suggested. 

"What? Sneak into shitty pizza places? Sure."

And it was that easy to get Pete Wentz's number.


	5. Chapter 5

Miley had been staring at her nude body for a long fucking time. Though it made her incredibly ecstatic, she didn't know if she could go to work. She had absolutely no clue on how to explain her complete transformation, and her co-workers may not even realize it was her (not that the fact was much different from the usual).

She decided stressing over the fact was useless because she was far too happy in her own body to be distressed and got so much support for it. So, she picked up her phone instead. It always served as an excellent distraction. 

Miley got a text from Pete a few minutes later. He too was an excellent distraction. 

He had asked her to go bowling because, quote unquote, fancy places make shitty first dates. Seeing as she had nothing better to do that afternoon and the idea of a date was all too appealing, she was meeting him there in thirty minutes. 

~~

"Patrick I have a dick now, oh my god!"

Patrick looked up from his book. "Congrats. Dicks are cool," he commented monotonously. 

Pete was grinning from ear to ear. 

"In all seriousness, you look incredible, Pete," gushed Patrick. "Tell me about it. Did they probe you?"

He rolled his eyes. "No, they did not probe me. But it was kind of weird. You know in movies where they have all the creepy ass tubing? Well they attached those to my head. It was kind of tingly feeling, but not really. And," Pete had to stifle a huge grin. 

"And?" Patrick prodded.  

"I met a girl," he told him. 

"Yes, tell me all about her!" his friend yelled, making room next to him on the bed. 

"Her name's Miley and she's really adorable. She has brown hair and awkward knees. We're into some of the same bands, so that's cool." Pete felt like a middle school girl. Neither experiences, middle school or being feminine, were Pete's fondest memories. A lot of that time was wasted playing video games and trying to be edgy, truthfully. 

"You should ask her out, today," Patrick suggested. 

"I can't. I just got her number yesterday, I'd seem clingy," cringed Pete. 

"If she likes you too, she wouldn't think you're being clingy at all. You shouldn't let others opinions keep you from living your life! Why should you wait to be with her if you want to hang out now, just to save your image, or whatever you're going for. You need to text her, bud. Just do it." Pete didn't remember when he had befriended a motivational speaker, but he just went with it. 

"You know what? I will text her," Pete decided with far too much confidence for his tiny body. 

"Yeah! Text her!" he was cheered on. 

"I'm doing it!" Pete pressed send. "Oh my god, I just did it. Fuck."

Patrick cracked a grin. "What me to pick an outfit for you?" he asked sarcastically. 

"I guess it wouldn't hurt," decided Pete.   
~~

"What's your shoe size?"

Pete turned to her. "Do you know your size in woman's?" 

"Bitch you think I haven't bought shoes yet?" Miley laughed. "Seven," she answered the boy behind the counter. He back went to the racks in search of her footwear.

When he came back, Pete payed to which Miley commented, "a true gentleman."

"I may be a gentleman now, but I'm a slut in the bowling alley," he retorted. 

"What does that even mean?" Miley rolled her eyes. She picked up a red ball after entering their names. She achieved a spare, which wasn't too bad. 

"Okay, step aside," declared Pete, strutting to the ball rack. With an unnecessary embellishing flick of the wrist, he got a strike. He admired his skill. Miley admired his ass. 

"Beat that," he smirked. 

Both teens were extremely competitive, and it showed in the not-so-platonic bowling match. 

"I am going to crush you."

"In the end, does the score really matter?" Pete asked. Miley had won their game and this was Pete's way of being a sore loser. 

"Guess not," she mumbled, chewing on a basket of fries. 

"I mean what's the significance of a small bowling competition in the vastness of the universe? Will anything that seems worthwhile to us really matter in a hundred years?" Pete rambled. 

"Woah, slow down there, Aristotle," joked Miley, flicking a French fry at him. 

"My theoretical, intelligent mind isn't appreciated enough, tbh," he sighed. 

"Because saying 'tbh' out loud is very intelligent."

Miley didn't know where her newfound confidence was coming from. Normally, she was incredibly introverted, but she decided that talking to Pete was easy. He always had something to say or a story to tell, and she loved listening. 

~~

"Mom?"

Pete was back at his house for the first time in a week. He didn't plan on staying at all; he only came to get some of his things. There were only so many times you could wear the same two t-shirts. 

Not that he had a choice in staying, after all. His mother would surely disapprove of everything, the running away and apparent sex change. 

Pete walked into the kitchen. His mother was sitting at the large wooden table doing paper work. He was slightly hurt that she didn't even look worried, but excused it on account of the note he left. 

She looked at him with wide eyes, and then a frown. 

"Lauren? Is that-"

 

Pete laughed bitterly. "I am literally a boy now, by all your standards, and you're still going to call me Lauren." He shook his head and headed for the stairs. 

"I miss the person you used to be," his mother said, defeated. "As soon as you were a boy, you changed."

"Yeah? I miss the mom you used to be."

Pete forcefully packed his bag, because fuck this. Fuck transphobia. Fuck people who become parents that really shouldn't be. 

He left his house for the last time with only as little as a door slam in the way of a goodbye.


	6. Chapter 6

"I have such a headache," Pete cried out melodramatically, throwing his arms around. He assumed it was either due to his intense emotional distress over the past few days, or the nauseating nail polish remover fumes. The latter was courtesy of Miley, because, of course, Pete was with her. 

"Do you need some Advil? I can go ask my mo- uh, I'll go check," Miley stumbled over her words. 

"You can say 'mom', Miley. I'm not going to have a breakdown or something."

"I'm sorry, I just feel really awful about that happened. That's a stupid thing. She's stupid, doesn't realize how damn amazing her son is." Miley shook her head. They sat in silence at a loss for something else to say. 

Suddenly, Pete sprung up. "I have an idea!"

Miley raised her eyebrow. 

"We're sat here in your bedroom with you being all awkward-"

"Thanks."

"And I'm moping around. We could do something." He thought. "I want to go TP my mom's house."

"Pete, really?" Miley sighed at his low levels of maturity. "Besides, I still haven't gotten my driver's permit redone."

"I have my license already; I just turned seventeen, and it came in the other day," Pete grinned, his mind already set on what he considered a fool-proof plan. 

Miley rolled her eyes and went back to painting her fingernails black, because she was alternative as fuck. 

~~

Miley thought Pete was kidding about pranking his mother, and that she was serious about not wanting to; both of which had proved her to be wrong. That was how they ended up buying toilet paper, red spray paint, and cherry Dr. Pepper at nearly two in the morning. 

"Did you know that 'Taylor Swift beat Kim K for the most followers title'?" Pete asked, reading from a celebrity gossip magazine. Miley rolled her eyes and took their bags. 

"Come on, you dork."

Miley was humming along quietly to the song on the radio and looking out the window. The dark sky was so clear and she admired how the stars shined brightly. When Miley was little, she had always wondered where the clouds went at night. 

That is, until she asked Gerard. He told her she was fucking stupid and that they were hard to see, because the sun wasn't out. 

But Miley realized that the sun was out tonight, sitting next to her in the driver's seat. 

It could have been the dreamlike feeling of early morning, or perhaps the elusiveness the dark brought that compelled her to do what she did next. They pulled over on the side of Pete's street, and she pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek before exiting the car. 

Pete's stomach still felt strange as he got out after her. 

"Are you ready to teach this motherfucker a lesson?" Miley smirked while shaking the paint bottle. 

"What happened to you not wanting to do this few hours ago," laughed Pete. She threw a roll of toilet paper at him. 

"Changed my mind."

Pete walked closer to the house. "You ever done this?" he asked. Miley shook her head. 

"Good, me neither. I didn't want to look stupid." He threw the toilet paper onto a tree, the end coming unraveled and draping over the branches. He pumped his fists in the air. 

"Shit, dude. I didn't think that would actually work," Miley admitted, stepping up next to the boy. She threw the next roll right onto the roof. 

"Nice shot!" Pete whisper-yelled, trying to stay quiet. They ran back to the van to get the rest of the supplies.

For almost fifteen minutes, they laughed and chucked toilet paper at Pete's mom's house for all they were worth. Just as Pete was about to spray paint the bricks, a light turned on. 

"Oh my god, Pete! She's awake!" Miley alerted him, considerably panicked. 

"Fuck. Give me two seconds, I just need to do this one thing," he said and pulled the top off the can. 

"No time, Pete! She'll call the police, come on!" Miley was racing back to the van. Pete followed suit as soon as the light right by the front door came on, abandoning his prior goal.

It was a shame too, he was good at drawing dicks. 

Pete reckoned the fastest he'd ever started a car was in that moment. They sped back home, breathing heavily and unable to stop laughing. In the end, they were just two pathetic teens, afraid of getting caught. 

"That was your fault we almost got arrested," Miley poked at him. "I could never make it in prison!"

"I truthfully couldn't see either of us pansies in the slammer," agreed Pete.

"Hey, do you just want to stay the night at mine  tonight, instead of Patrick's? My mom might be a little mad, but it's okay." 

"Sure." Pete was smiling widely at his partner in crime. 

~~

Sometimes, Miley did exciting things. Sometimes, she sat alone in her room, laughing at how her name autocorrected to 'moldy.'

Sometimes, Gerard deemed it an appropriate time to bother his little sister. He did knock, at least. 

"Yeah?" Miley called. Gerard walked in, biting his lip. 

"Can I talk to you?" he asked. Gerard was being polite and shy, two things incredibly out of character for him, so Miley knew something must have happened. 

"Sure, thing." She scooted over on the bed to give him room. 

"Okay, so, I need some advice. I think I might have screwed up, but I don't know, because it didn't feel awful. For me, at least. It might have been sort of awkward-"

Miley rolled her eyes. "Stop rambling and tell me what happened so I can give some top shelf advice," she attempted to get it out of him. 

"I kissed Frank."

She felt a smile slowly come on. "I knew this was coming! Oh, what a glorious day of love and homosexuality! Gerard and Frank, sitting in a tree-" Miley was rudely interrupted from her singing when Gerard clamped a hand over her mouth. 

"But I'm still with Lindsey, and I still like her."

"Oh," Miley paused. "Well, you no good fucking piece of trash cheater. I can't believe you had the nerve to go behind Lindsey's back and do such a thing!"

"Miley!" Gerard whined. "You're not helping. Just, what should I do?"

"Don't blame me if I fuck up your life, but you should probably tell her, at least."

"I was planning to."

"And if you actually still liked her, you probably wouldn't have kissed Frank, I'm just saying."

"That's a good point," he sighed. "Maybe I like her, but I don't love her, you know? Maybe I'm just used to dating her. I'd want to still be friends, though, because she's pretty cool. I just don't want her to hate me."

"Well, do what you think is best. You just have to choose who you couldn't live without," Miley suggested. She would have patted her own back if she was alone, because she was like some kind of Dr. Phil with her incredible life advice. 

"Thanks, Miles," Gerard smiled a bit. He shook his head. "God, when did my life become a cheesy ass love triangle."


	7. Chapter 7

Miley woke up, and went through her normal routine, brushing her hair and teeth, doing the average girly necessities. Then, she went to the restroom. 

To her dismay, she found there was a brown stain on the inside of her shorts. Frowning, she decided that it was a problem for another day. Pretending not to notice her problem worked out for about a minute until she stood up again. 

She inhaled sharply at the sudden pain in her lower abdomen. Her breasts hurt, too. And she was kind of hungry. All of these problems with her body made her feel panicked and rather upset. 

Miley probably could have thought of more logical things to do in this situation than call Pete, but she determined she was, in fact, dying. There was no time for well thought out plans. 

So, she picked up her cellphone and dialed his number. 

"Hey Miley," he said groggily. 

"Pete, are you actually just waking up?" she giggled. 

"No," he lied. "It's not even that late."

"It's two, but I can't really say anything, because I woke up, like, two hours ago." 

Pete rolled his eyes, even though Miley couldn't see him. "So, what's up?"

"Well." Miley tried to formulate a way of expressing her problem. "Can I ask you kind of an awkward question? About girls?" 

"Shoot."

"Okay, so do we, like, poop out of our, you know... vaginas?" 

"Miley," Pete paused. "What the hell are you talking about?" In that moment, she realized it would have saved a lot of humiliation to ask her mother, but she had already started and it was too late to turn back now. 

"But listen, I don't feel well either. Like, I have a headache and pains in-" Pete's laughter cut Miley off. "It's not funny! I'm concerned about my health!"

"Miles, you're on your period," he managed to breathe out. 

"Oh," she said in response. "Oh." There was an awkward silence that lasted far too long. 

"Well, what am I supposed to do?"

"Since you're having cramps, I'd recommend taking some Ibuprofen, and you might want to get some pads or tampons so you don't ruin your underwear. Also, eat ice cream. Ice cream is always good."

"Thanks, Pete." Miley truly was gracious. "Sorry if I made you upset talking about this," she apologized as an afterthought. 

"Oh, you didn't," he assured her. "Talk to you later."

"Bye." Miley smiled at no one in particular. 

~~

"Pete, Ryan's here," Patrick called from the front door. 

"Two seconds!" he yelled back, slipping his vans on. He sprinted down the stairs to meet the boy. 

"Hey," Ryan said. Pete waved back. As they walked out the door, Ryan winked at Patrick and made a 'call me' hand gesture. Pete rolled his eyes. 

"Dude, thank you so much you don't understand-" he began. 

"It's no problem," he smiled, unlocking the car. 

"I just didn't want to get Miley upset by having her take me." Pete could have gotten Patrick to take him back downtown, but he inconveniently had a job to get to. 

Ryan reached over to turn on the radio. "So what exactly is the matter, if you don't mind me asking."

"I've had headaches for the past week, and they started getting really bad." Pete subconsciously massaged his temple. "Like, I've never had migraines, so I don't know what caused them."

"You think it might have been the experiment?" Ryan confirmed. 

"I mean, yeah. They told us to come back if anything was weird. It seemed to me like they were expecting something," said Pete. "I really hope it's something else, though."

"Yeah, me too. This is some scary shit."

"It is! If something really is wrong with, like, my brain, I'm not sure that they would know how to fix it."

"Maybe this is how the apocalypse starts," Ryan joked, trying to lighten the mood. "You're going to infect us all, Pete."

"If you don't die from AIDS first."

Ryan rolled his eyes and playfully punched Pete's arm. "I always engage in safe sex, just to be clear. You're just jealous, because you're a virgin."

"How would you know I'm a virgin?" 

"Well, are you?"

"I-that's beside the point," huffed Pete. 

"So you are, that's so cute," Ryan cooed. "Speaking of which, when are you going to put your sour cream in Miley's burrito, if you know what I'm saying."

"I'm sorry, what?" Pete asked, wide-eyed. "I don't know what you're saying at all."

"You know, bam bam in the ham, ride the skin bus into tuna town, smash-"

"Oh my god!" Pete gagged. "Stop fucking talking!"

Ryan cracked up at himself while Pete repeatedly murmured, "You're insane," to himself. 

"Are you insane like me, been in pain like me!" Ryan sang at what volume Pete unfortunately reckoned was the highest he'd ever heard a human reach. 

"You're such a strange person," he laughed. 

"Are you strange like me!"

"How did I know that was coming?"

~~

When they arrived, Pete noticed that he wasn't the only one there having problems. A boy with giant hair stood by a water fountain next to a girl with red hair and more tattoos than Pete could count. He was perplexed by this, because he could have sworn the ad had asked for teenagers, and those were a lot of tattoos for something who was only just of age. 

Pete was interrupted from his thoughts when a woman in a lab coat came out. He instantly recognized her as Dr. Harrigan. "Hello, how are you all doing?" The three of them mumbled half-hearted 'good's as her got out a clip board. "Ray? And Andy? And Pete?" They all nodded respectively. 

"Im going to go wait in the car," Ryan informed him, motioning back toward the door. "Probably get some Taco Bell." He awkwardly walked off. Pete waved him off and entered the room Dr. Harrigan instructed them to.


	8. Chapter 8

Miley had never actually met Patrick. Likewise, Patrick had never actually met her. Pete did tell stories of both, and they could already agree on the fact that the boy could talk. 

This thought finally brought up the dilemma of how to introduce Miley to Patrick and, more prominently, their relationship status. Pete didn't want to label her as his girlfriend and make her uncomfortable, because they never discussed it. On the other hand, he really did want to introduce her as his girlfriend, because he certainly wanted to be her boyfriend. 

He groaned and tossed his phone onto the bed. Wikihow somehow wasn't providing the best advice on how to ask a girl to date you. He never thought he would be subjected to having a 'define the relationship' talk, though he also never thought he would turn out to be trash for emo music, but here we are. 

Pete resolved to ask her before he took her on the classiest of dates to his friend's house (which was his as well in a way, as he had been living there for a while now) and then compete in the fine art of mini-golfing, thanks to step two: don't be nervous; you're already somewhat close, and the sooner you ask, the better!

"Patrick!" he whined. "Come here!" Pete was definitely in need of advice from another teenager, who was only as experienced on the subject as he was. 

"Yeah?" Patrick stood in the guest room door. 

"I need some girl help," admitted Pete. 

"From the gay guy?" Patrick laughed at his friend. 

"Yeah, sadly it's come to this point."

"Well, they don't call me the Love Doctor for nothing," he boasted and struck a ridiculous pose. Pete rolled his eyes. 

"Literally no one calls you that."

"You will after I get you with Miley."

"You're too much, truly." Pete desperately needed some new friends. 

Patrick walked over to the where Pete was on the floor and sat down across from him. "So, what's up?"

"Well," he started, "how are you supposed to know when you're someone's boyfriend? When am I even supposed to ask her, like, is it too soon?"

"Ah, my confused, little son-"

"Your what?"

"Asking someone to be your girlfriend, or boyfriend, or non gender-conforming partner, seems very immature, to me, at least. It'll just happen. You'll feel it on the inside."

"What are you on?"

"I'm serious, Pete. Just ask her if you guys are official." Patrick stood up and ruffled his hair. "Go get 'em, tiger," he said with a wink. 

Ironically enough, that was Wikihow's final step. 

He decided it would be best to get dressed if he were to pick up Miley anytime soon. The dark blue button up he chose would surely impress, he reckoned after staring at the mirror for far too long. 

"Goodbye, Mr. and Mrs. Stump!" he called while heading out of the door. 

On the way to Miley's house, Pete skipped through the radio stations, a nervous habit of his. He seemed to have quite a bit of those. He finally pulled up to her house, where she was already outside in a red romper. 

"You look so cute, Miley," he smiled at her after she got into the car. 

"Thanks." She smiled sheepishly, and they both hid their pink tinted cheeks.

"Hey, Pete?"

"Mhmm," he hummed in response. 

"Pete, so are we, like, you know, a thing?" she asked, shifting in the passenger's seat. 

He could have prayed thanks to the Lord right then and there. If true love meant being awkward and confused together about the same things, they had to be soulmates. 

Pete leaned over and gave her a chaste kiss on the lips. "That was a yes, by the way," he sighed contentedly. 

~~

"I still can't believe you tried to karate chop that bird," Miley laughed as they walked back into her house, reminiscing on their game of miniature golf. 

"And I still can't believe you beat me," sulked Pete, crossing his arms. 

"Dude, but-" she stopped talking abruptly. "Oh my God! My eyes!"

Pete flushed a bit as well to the scene in front of them. A messy haired Frank desperately tried to cover up his lack of clothing with a blanket. 

"On the couch, Gerard? Really?" she scoffed. 

He only turned crimson in response and searched for his shirt. 

"Have you even broken up with Lindsey yet?" sighed Miley. Gerard avoided all possible eye contact and picked at his nails. 

"You see... I mean-"

"Save it," Frank huffed, getting up from the seat. "See you later, Gee."

Miley and Pete stood in the entry way of her house for another minute after Gerard went up to his bedroom and slammed the door. 

"Um," she cleared her throat. "While he deals with that, come with me. I want to show you something." Pete just nodded and followed her. 

"We just need to climb through this window," she instructing, pointing at the corner of her bedroom. "It leads straight to the roof."

"Miley, if I die on my way up there-"

She giggled. "You're not going to die."

Pete watched her feet disappear around the outside wall and figured he had no choice now. 

"So, I thought we'd come up here to just talk, you know?" Miley suggested as Pete tried to shift away from the edge of the roof. 

"I still need to know some stuff about you, now that you're my boyfriend," she pointed out, and Pete could have sworn he felt his heart flutter, which he hoped was because of Miley and not the experiment causing his heart to malfunction. 

"Okay, like what?"

"Like when's your birthday?"

"June 5."

"What?" she gasped. "That was less than a month ago! Why didn't you tell me?"

"I haven't really celebrated my birthday in a while I guess," admitted Pete. 

"Oh, Pete. We have to do something for it! I would have gotten you a present." 

"You already got me a gift, silly." She apparently didn't understand. 

"That's the day we met."

Miley kissed him slower, and more deliberate on his lips. "You're so cheesy." She bit her lip to keep from smiling too much. 

"But, really, we don't need to celebrate my birthday. I haven't done that since I came out to my mom," sighed Pete. 

"I'd offer for you to come live with me. I really would, but my mom would kill me."

"It's alright. I'm staying at Patrick's until he gets sick of me."

"I feel so awful. I know what it's like it not have a dad, but both parents?" Miley gave him a reassuring squeeze. "I hope you know it'll be alright."

"Seems like I'm not the only cheesy one," Pete laughed. 

"Be quiet," Miley said, catching his mouth in a kiss. Her hands traveled to the back of his neck and his to her hips. 

Their noses kept brushing and neither could stop grinning, creating a rather awkward make out session. 

"What if Frank or Gerard saw us?" 

"Don't make me think of my brother while I'm kissing you, Pete."

They both giggled from nerves and ecstasy. 

Because Miley was kissing her boyfriend. 

And Pete was kissing his girlfriend.


	9. Chapter 9

Pete had a self-proclaimed awful habit of panicking. The smallest of things could send him spiraling into an anxious fit, but with waking up the way he did, mild panic was understandable, to say the least. 

When he awoke, he was only able to see the right side of his nose. It was as if he were closing one eye, save for the fact he was absolutely sure it was open. Besides, why would he want to see half of his nose in such extreme detail?

Not only was his right nostril too close in his range of vision, but he also could not see the white of the pillow on his left, or the desk. 

In retrospect, Pete probably should have called a medical professional instead of his girlfriend. However, he figured being confused and nervous together, with someone he cared about, was better than being confused and nervous alone. 

He immediately regretted turning on his phone when the light fueled the stabbing pain in his head. 

"Pete?" Miley greeted from the other line. 

"Yeah, hi," he said back. "Listen I'm really not feeling well-"

"Oh no, what's wrong?" she asked. 

"Well-" Pete paused. "Can you pick me up? We need to go to the experiment place. I'll tell you when you get here."

There was a moment of silence. "Sure, I'll be there in a few minutes. I hope everything's okay."

"I'll see you, Miles."

~~

"Hello, I'm Dr. Bride," the man walking through the door introduced. Miley and Pete shook his hand, mumbling their names respectively. 

"How are you feeling?"

"Well, I'm kind of losing my vision, so, you know, great," sighed Pete. Miley nudged him. The doctor gave him a sorry look. 

"Well, I'm here to explain what's going on and, hopefully, relieve some stress. Your monocular vision will result in an approximate loss of a fourth of your field of view," the doctor began to explain. 

"I can see that." Pete paused. "Or not see that, whatever."

"You might experience, most prominently, trouble with balance and depth perception."

"Okay, but is there anyway to fix it?" Pete rubbed his temples, trying to ease his headache away. 

"We're still determining the cause of the vision loss at the moment, but we will get back to you as soon as something is found. In the meantime, you will have to take some precautions. For example, you are definitely going to need eye protection for your good eye, and there are some plastic-lens glasses to pick from here."

Pete wanted to scream, or cry, or just generally not stay silent. He felt hopeless; he might be half-blind his entire life. What had he gotten himself into?

"You also can't drive, as it would be dangerous without depth perception and all."

He visibly deflated at his words. "Do you think I'll go all the way blind?" 

"In both eyes, we really aren't sure yet. You see, the occipital lobe, which is located in the posterior of the brain, controls vision and sensory information from the eyes. In your X-ray, it appeared to be noticeably smaller in size, compared to the average. We're currently trying to figure out why that is and how to reverse it, if possible," clarified Dr. Bride 

Pete swallowed nervously and nodded. 

"Don't lose hope, Mr. Wentz. Here's our phone number in case you have any other concerns, so you don't have to come all the way down here." He scribbled the numbers onto a piece of paper and ripped it off for Pete. 

"Have a safe trip home, hopefully we won't have to meet about this again," smiled the doctor. Miley and Pete waved back awkwardly, faking smiles. 

"Glasses are so stupid and nerdy, God!" Pete complained, kicking at a pebble in the parking lot. 

"Hey, I used to wear glasses, don't be rude," Miley said and playfully slapped him on the arm. "Besides, you look kind of hot as a nerd."

"I just look like a pretentious hipster who only listens to shitty underground indie. I prefer shitty aboveground music," he sighed. He took off the black, thick rimmed glasses and wiped them off on his shirt. 

"Don't knock it until you try it." 

They got into the car in silence, Miley taking the driver's seat. She turned toward Pete. 

"Stop looking at me like that," begged Pete. 

Miley bit her lip. "I'm sorry, I just feel so bad this is happening to you," she explained. 

It was true. She felt so guilty when Pete was having awful migraines, and she was absolutely fine. 

"I just wish I never was involved in all of this transgender stuff. We never would have had to go through with that stupid experiment, no matter how much I do love finally having actual boobs. It's only made life more difficult for me and my family."

"Being trans or the experiment?"

Miley thought for a second. "Both, I guess. Why couldn't we just have been normal? Why are people born the wrong fucking gender? It's so fucking stupid."

"Hey," Pete comforted her, laying a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay, Miley. I know this is cliche, but bad things happen to good people, but who says this was a bad thing? I never would have met you if it wasn't for this."

"We both have problems being cliche don't we?" Miley chuckled under her breath, not quite recovering from her loathing. 

"If we're being cliche now, I'm going to say that I want to hear you laugh forever." Pete reached out for Miley's hand, which she immediately placed in his. "I really don't like seeing you upset. Sometimes, life really sucks balls, and, sometimes, it's the most incredible thing. I'm kind of in a love-hate relationship with it."

"You're supposed to be in a relationship with me, you dingus," Miley said, then kissed him on the cheek. 

"You ruined my fake deep philosophy moment. That's so mean," complained Pete, pouting. "I was like Tyler Joseph or some other singer with a too big ego."

"Kanye West?"

"Totally."

Miley laughed again and started the car. Pete stared out of the front window and tried to ignore his inability to see Miley on his left side.


	10. Chapter 10

"Guess who knows where the best underground rock band is playing tonight and has acquired two fake IDs." Pete smirked, holding up two cards. "And guess who needs a date and thought of asking none other than the indie enthusiast."

"Oh, dude, cool," said Miley, looking over the IDs. "Guess who would be delighted to come."

"Oh, who? Gerard?"

Miley slapped his arm playfully. "You sound like a white dad," she laughed.

"Oh, oh I have a ton of dad jokes. Want to hear one about being delighted?" Pete offered.

"Do I?"

"The man was delighted to come home and find that all of his lamps had been stolen."

Miley visibly cringed. "Oh, my god, that was awful." Pete laughed at her, and she couldn't help but giggle herself. She walked over to lay on the floor beside him. 

"So who's playing? I'll tell you if I've heard of them." If there was just one aspect of herself Miley was incredibly proud of, it was her extensive band knowledge. 

"Teddy Bear Fur."

"So, when you made this decision on who we would see, they sounded like the best choice?"

"Don't judge a book but it's cover! I thought you looked pretty basic when I first saw you," Pete teased. 

"You bully me!" Miley cried melodramatically. 

It didn't occur to her, however, that her mother was, at least, caring and, at most, overprotective 

"Assuming I can actually get out of the house, what I supposed to wear?" she asked, having never been to a club.

"Well, you look good in anything," complimented Pete, embellishing it with a wink. Miley didn't mind that he looked like there was something stuck in his eye. It was endearing. That's what you do when you love someone; you sugar coat everything. 

"I also look good in nothing," she flirted smoothly.

"Woah, Miley, that was naughty." Pete laughed awkwardly, because that was naughty. Because he was a teenage boy, who was so into anything of that nature.

"I can be so bad, Petey."

Holy shit. Pete was blushing madly. He had never seen this side of Miley and holy shit. She would always continue to surprise him, being so adventurous and witty, while staying intelligent and Pete's impulse control. He swore he had never been this frightened of losing someone in his life.

Pete figured that Miley, however, was different from his mother. She cared. She would stay.

He rolled over to kiss her on the lips.

She was the sweetest taste in the world, and Pete felt as if he was on fire. Though, it could have just been the heat rushing to his pants.

As Miley tugged through his hair, he savored the feeling of their soft lips moving in unison. Her hips between his hands felt like so much more than just skin, as if held something that really mattered.

Miley climbed on top of him as he pulled his shirt off. She ran her hands over his chest. "How are you so much more tan than I am?"

"It's because I'm not a vampire like you."

Miley would have defended herself, but she was a bit distracted by the lips on her throat.

Miley brought her hand down to undo Pete's zipper and licked her hand. She smirked when he gasped.

Pete slipped his fingers into her underwear as well. "We're kind of cheating at this. I know how a vagina works."

"You're ruining the moment, Pete," Miley chastised and continued to suck on his bottom lip.

Pete continued to relish in the way Miley's hair felt brushing against his face, how she would sigh right into his ear, and came embarrassingly fast, Miley rocking into his hand soon after. She rolled off him, back beside him.

"You just got me off on a carpet I haven't cleaned since the Spice Girls were popular," she observed, chuckling to herself. Pete grinned and pecked her cheek.

"I think I like-like you, Miley."

"I think I like-like you, too."

~~

Pete totally had not fallen asleep on Miley's bed, and Miley totally had not cuddled next to him.

Pete was far too content just lying there with her, until he became concerned with the movement of his hand, or lack thereof. He shot up like a rocket and desperately tried to move his fingers, attempting to clench and unclench his fist, but they just stayed curled up in a way that was definitely not good. Pete was working himself up quite a bit and, in turn, waking Miley up.

As soon as she was alert, she became aware of Pete's current state, which was also definitely not good.

He was hyperventilating and crying, and Miley wasn't sure how to help him, as she was only sixteen and had entirely no medical training.

"Pete, are you okay?" she asked, moving to sit in front of him. "Can I touch you?" He nodded slightly, and Miley put her arms around him. She noticed how badly he was shaking.

"What's wrong?" She rubbed his arms, hoping that it would, at least, comfort him.

"I w-woke up and - I gonna f-faint."

Miley immediately helped him to lay down. "Okay, I'm going to get Gerard. Just-"

"Miley, no wait!"

It was safe to say at this point, Miley was shaking as well. "Do you want to go to a hospital?" Pete shook his head and put his hand over his heart. Miley took his pulse with her thin fingers.

"Pete, can you, just, try to breathe with me," she instructed in an attempt to calm him down. She fanned him with her hand.

She did have his best interest in mind; she always did, but she had no idea what to do. So, the two just remained sitting on the bed, Pete in Miley's arms.

"I think I'm going to die, Miley," he said with wide eyes.

"No, Pete you're going to be fine," she assured him. "Are you sure you don't want me to take to the ER?"

"No, don't. I just-" Pete put his head between his knees, holding on to the feeling of Miley's hand on his back. Eventually, he was able to steady his heartbeat and speak to Miley.

"Are you okay? Do you need some water?"

"No, I'm fine now," he said. "I just freaked out, because-" He held up his arm with the paralyzed hand that caused this mess. "I can't move it. It's all tingly and shit."

Miley shook her head. "You did more than freak out, Pete! You had, like, a panic attack!"

"Just leave it alone!" he spat back. "Sorry," he atoned, softer this time. "I'm just kind of embarrassed, I guess."

"Pete, there's nothing to be embarrassed about. I would never judge you, and this wasn't even your fault." Miley thought more about the dilemma of Pete's immobile hand. "Do you want to go to the testing facility?"

He leaned his head back on the headboard and sighed. "Yeah, I guess I have to."

Maybe Pete shouldn't have been the one afraid of losing someone. Maybe he should have been afraid of being lost.


	11. Chapter 11

Miley stopped the car and shut off the engine. Before Pete could step out, she put her hand on his thigh. Pete could feel her hand's warmth through the denim of his jeans. 

"You're going to be fine."

"I hope so," Pete mumbled. "I can't imagine not being able to be with you." Miley frowned at him. 

"What are you talking about?" she asked. "Do you think you're going to die? Come on, Pete, there's no way-"

"But it could happen."

Miley bit her lip. "Don't be such a pessimist." She gave him a small smile and got out of the car.

"Race you!" she called. Pete rolled his eyes. Despite his low mood at the moment and the sickness he felt looking at the glass building, there was no way he would stand to lose anything. So he jogged behind her, taking note of the adorable swishing her ponytail was doing. 

"You can't die, because we couldn't do stupid stuff like this," Miley said over her shoulder, laughing. 

"You're cheating! Your legs are way longer than mine!" Pete pouted. He nearly ran into her, having overlooked that she suddenly ceased her running. 

"Fuck this! Fuck you!" screamed a girl with brown hair. It looked as if security was pulling her out of the building. Pete felt he could relate to her current state. 

"Spencer, calm down," someone else pleaded. 

"Come on," Miley huffed, dragging him into his problem rather than away from it like that Spencer girl. 

Pete suddenly felt annoyed. He wasn't entirely sure what triggered it; it could have been the motherly way Miley acted, as if he couldn't take care of himself, or the general misfortune in his situation. Either way, his stomach fluttered, though not in a good way, and he attempted to bear his bitterness. 

"Pete Wentz?" asked a receptionist as soon as they entered the glass door. He nodded curtly. "Follow me to Dr. Moon."

Pete reached for Miley's hand. He hated admitting he needed support, and Miley loved to give it. They really were an interesting pair. 

"That was our room," whispered Pete, gesturing to a wooden door at the end of the hallway. He wasn't quite sure why he felt the need to be quiet, though he reckoned it might be the business-esque environment. He never understood why certain atmospheres made people hush their voices on instinct. He didn't understand why he had to be there now, why this happened to him. 

It also could have been his uneasiness making him whisper. 

"Here we are," she said. "The doctor should be with you at any moment." Miley and Pete were left to themselves. 

"I wonder where that ho is," Miley said. "She sure hasn't shown her face. I wonder how many other people are dealing with this stuff."

Pete chuckled. "Why did you call her a ho?"

"I don't know, that lab coat is pretty scandalous."

"Are you slut shaming a scientist in her own home? That's so rude."

"I'm not calling her a slut, I'm just saying right now her and the receptionist lady might be-"

The door opened, letting in who Pete assumed was Dr. Moon and none other than Dr. Harrigan and leaving Miley blushing madly. 

"Hello," the doctors greeted in unison. Pete and Miley both waved back rather awkwardly. 

"Which one of you is Pete?" Dr. Harrigan asked. Pete raised an eyebrow. "Well, I'm not in the habit of assuming gender anymore."

He almost smiled. 

"I'm Pete," he confirmed, extending his arm for a handshake. 

"Okay, well, we're both going to ask a few questions, is that alright?" She sat down and pointed between herself and Dr. Moon. 

"Within the first week of the experiment, did you notice anything wrong? Were you having any trouble with your eye at all?" she asked. 

"Actually, I kept having awful migraines," Pete said, subconsciously rubbing his temples. 

Dr. Harrigan nodded and watched as Dr. Moon scribbled something on his clipboard. 

"When did you lose your vision?"

"That happened about a week and a half ago, I think."

More of a pen scratching on a page. 

"And your hand?"

"That was yesterday."

"So, you would say there was about a month gap between the experiment and the current symptoms?"

"Yeah."

"And it's your left hand and your left eye?"

Pete nodded. He had already told her half of this information previously, and he honestly only wanted to know if he would be alright. 

"So far in the way of a solution, we've come up with one procedure that might work. What you're experiencing is closest to an intracerebral hemorrhage, a type of stroke where there's bleeding in the brain tissue. Except in your case, the loss of ability in one side of your body isn't happening all at once, as it would with an ICH, and, as far as we know, a blood vessel hasn't burst. Other patients going through the same thing as you have gotten X-rays showing nothing of the like.

"So in the surgery, we will, in a sense, rewire the brain tissue and nervous system pathways for your motor and sensory control and usage." Dr. Moon explained. 

"Woah. So, like, brain surgery?" Miley asked. 

"Yes, but there's hardly anything to worry about," Dr. Harrigan assured her. 

"Well," began the other doctor. "There's no way we can be sure, because this procedure hasn't been done before, but experimenting as shown there will most likely be a ninety percent full life expectancy."

"That's so great! Did you hear that, Pete?" Mikey exclaimed. He nodded, looking as if the fact did make him feel somewhat better. 

"Well, there's some bad news, as well."

Both of their faces dropped. 

"There's a fifty-fifty change of passing away during surgery," Dr. Moon explained. Pete shook his head. 

"What if I..." he hesitated, "didn't want to have it done?"

"Well, son, I'm afraid that's your only choice. Otherwise, your brain will continue to shut down and paralyze the left side of your body, which includes important organs, such as your left lung. If it were to fail and collapse, you'd be in even more trouble."

Pete bit his lip. "When could you do it?"

"There's an opening on July Thirtieth."

"What? That's in, like, a week!"

"Well, we'll have to do it as soon as possible. We also want to see if anything else out of the ordinary happened," Dr. Harrigan explained. "I'm going to go print you off a sheet with everything you'll need to know about the operation."

~~

"Get it in my mouth!"

"Uh."

"No you missed! Now I have white stuff on my cheek," Miley complained. 

She opened her mouth to try and catch another piece of white cheddar popcorn. If you asked Miley, or almost anyone in acquaintanceship with Gerard, she would say his one redeeming quality had to be his awful aim. His skill, or lack thereof, definitely was not helpful in sibling competitions like this. 

"Oh!" he yelled, scaring Miley and nearly making her fall off the couch. 

"What?" she asked after composing herself. 

"Guess who got his love life together, plus a new boyfriend."

"I called it, I swear I called you and Frank," said Miley with a smug smile. "So, are you gay?"

"I don't think so," he sighed. "I just like people, if you know what I mean. Love's weird, you feel?"

"I feel." She did feel. The thought of her being so taken by Pete but only having known him for two months was strange. She reckoned they were in their "honeymoon phase," but it would certainly last. Miley was determined on hanging around Pete for a long time. 

"Speaking of which, Pete and I went to Dr. Harrigan today," Miley began. Gerard nodded. "They said he'd need to have this surgery, because he had this thing that was kind of like a prolonged stroke, I guess."

"Do they think he'll be okay?"

"Well, they said the operation will almost guarantee a full life without any health problems, but it's brain surgery, you know? So there's a fifty fifty chance of him living through it."

"Miley that's." Gerard hesitated and bit his lip. "How come you don't seem worried?"

"Because he's not going to die. There's no way."

Gerard shook his head. "You've always been so naïve, Miley. You realize there's a possibility that..."

"Stop saying that!" she huffed and stomped upstairs.


	12. Chapter 12

By the time a doctor came out of the operating room, Miley was down six fingernails and twice as many hours of sleep. Patrick looked equally wrecked. 

"Mrs. Way? Miley Way? Patrick Stump?" They nodded respectively. 

"We did all that we could," he began. Patrick reached for Miley's hand, she appreciated it, needing the gesture as much as he did. "You were aware of the statistics and- I'm so, incredibly sorry, but Pete didn't make it."

All three remained stunned for a moment. Then Miley laughed; she couldn't help it. The situation was so absurd, she had only seen this type of calamity happen on shitty soap operas her mom liked to watch. She laughed at the doctor's feigned regret. He didn't actually care that Pete was dead. It would be unprofessional.

Pete was dead.

She was shaking and laughing. She was shaking so hard. "I th-think I'm, ah," she excused herself to the restroom. 

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she held back her hair and vomited. She was no longer laughing. 

Pete was dead.

She walked out and caught sight of Patrick, the same cataract of grief apparent on his face. They collapsed into each others arms and onto the floor. 

They were practically strangers, only brought together by the ecstasy, and tragedy, that was Pete Wentz.

Who was fucking dead.

Miley sobbed into Patrick's shoulder while he ran his fingers through her hair. She had no idea how long they sat there, but she reckoned it had been a while when her mom suggested they go. 

She just nodded. She knew she would only cry harder if she opened her mouth. 

"Patrick, do you want me to take you home?" her mom offered. Miley hadn't realized they had already arrived. 

"Actually, I'd like to stay with Miley a bit longer if that's okay," he said softly. Mrs. Way nodded in understanding. 

They trudged up the stairs to Miley's room. It's funny the way a story can begin and end in the same place, she thought. 

She collapsed on the bed, suddenly feeling exhausted. Patrick sat cross-legged on the end. 

They sat in silence, neither knowing exactly what to say, or even if there was anything they could say. 

"You know what Pete told me once?" Patrick sighed. "He said he wanted to change the world for transgender people."

"He did, in a way. He certainly changed one trans person's world. 

"I wish he never would have signed up for that experiment."

"Me, too," Miley confessed. 

"You'd rather you had never met him for him to still be alive?"

Miley thought about it. "Yeah. Nothing's awful enough in life that's worse than not being alive at all."

"God, why did it have to be him?" Patrick has on the verge of tears again, Miley could tell. "It could have been you, or, or-"

Miley stared blankly at him. "I think you should leave."

Patrick rubbed his hands on his jeans. "Pete wouldn't want anyone to be sad." He waved awkwardly and started out of the room. "I'm sorry."

Miley wasn't sure if he was sorry for what he said or about this whole thing, but she accepted it. Her eyes dropped to her hands in lap. 

She sighed, taking out her phone and dialing the most familiar number after Pete's. 

"Hey, Gerard," she whispered. 

"Miley? Are you okay?"

She swallowed. She wasn't sure. Being okay was a spectrum of feeling and she reckoned she hadn't been on this side of it in a while. 

"He didn't- Pete is gone."

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry, Miley," Gerard said. There was a long pause. He was at a loss for words. "I can't believe it."

"Me neither." Miley sighed. "I need you to come home," she told him desperately. 

"I wish I could, I really do, but I'm touring Juilliard all the way in New York, you know that. I'm not sure I can find a flight-"

"Can you try?" 

"God, Miley, I feel so awful. Yeah, I'll try."

"I knew it was a possibility he'd die, I just.. I didn't think it would actually happen, you know," she confessed. 

"We never do."

"I know we weren't even dating that long, but I'm sure I loved him."

"How much you love someone isn't determined by how long you've known them. He loved you so much, too, Miley. You have no idea," Gerard assured her. 

"It felt like I knew him forever, but not long enough." 

"I'm going to miss that sweet little dude," he admitted. "I'm coming home soon to give you the biggest hug, I promise."

~~

Miley stared glumly at the mirror. She looked nice in the fitted black dress, though she never should have had to wear it at all. 

Pete would have said she was beautiful. 

But this wasn't even her body, not really. It was some stranger's rental that she felt as if she needed. 

Pete would have said he wasn't talking about her body. 

"There is a writing technique some authors use to provoke a thought in the reader's mind by telling them explicitly not to think about whatever it is they want them to think of. To illustrate, if one were to say 'don't think about the sun', you're most likely picturing the its ever present warmth and just how much we depend on it right now."

 

Miley took a breath. Public speaking was never her forte, but she would talk to the entire planet for him.

"That's precisely how I feel about Pete, when he was alive and even now. That's just the type of person he was, always making sure he was thought of."

There were knowing smiles from the mourners.

"There was this one time when he took me on a date to-." Miley cleared her throat and shuffled her papers. She pushed them aside.

"You know, I can never understand why people talk about the dead in the past tense. Pete is not a "was" or a "has been." Just because he's not here physically doesn't mean he isn't still with us. He's alive in our memories, and he will continue to be alive as long as we don't forget about him, which would be a considerably difficult thing to do. He might not be here to make new memories, but, God, do I remember living with him. His physical body might not be here, but who he was, is, and who we remember him to be is filling this entire room."

Miley was smiling as a tear rolled down her cheek, the first since the hospital. She wasn't only talking to the room, but she was speaking for herself as well.

"Yeah, we can think about the things we regret. I regret not kissing him more, and I'm sure his mother regrets not accepting him, but Pete wasn't depressing, nor did he make people sad. He would want us to think about the good things we experienced with him. He would never want us to suffer because of him."

She could see she wasn't alone in crying.

"There's this song by Troye Sivan that I've been listening for the past few days. Some of the lyrics are 'I don't want to say good bye, I just want to see the stars with you.' It sounds cheesy, and Pete probably would have laughed, but I'd love for him to be here to do something so simple as star gazing. He always made simple things matter, because he matters."

Miley took another large breath. 

"If anyone else has something to say you can come up."


	13. Chapter 13

Every time Miley looked at her reflection, she didn't see herself. 

It wasn't like before her transition when she would look in the mirror and see everything that was wrong. Her chest was entirely too flat and her hair too short. She knew that wasn't who she was. 

It also wasn't like how she looked at herself after the experiment. She was in a body completely foreign to her, but one she was meant to have, despite the mole she now had behind her knee and the slightly lighter brown hue to her hair. 

It was more like whenever she saw her reflection, she saw Pete. She saw how they met, where Pete had kissed her neck, their matching dark eyes. 

The night two days after Pete's funeral when Miley went to bed, she couldn't take it anymore and decided on breaking that stupid fucking mirror. She didn't want to look at herself. Her entire being reminded her of a life that should have never been lost. Gerard came running in at the noise only to find his sister with tears streaming down her face and seven years of bad luck. He held her and examined her bleeding knuckles as she sobbed into his shoulder. She clutched the back of his shirt so tightly, because she could not afford to have anyone else leave her. He whispered comforting reassurances, but she could not hear anything over her chocked breath and the ringing in her ears.

"Miley, what's wrong?" Gerard asked. 

"What do you think, Gerard?" she spat. 

He sighed, sounding like a balloon deflating, sounding how Miley felt every single minute since Pete's death. 

"I know how hard it is losing the first person you loved," he told her. "I remember there was this girl named Jamia. We were both in freshman year and we had math together. She was so good at algebra, but I sucked. So here was this kid who was not very smart or skinny and this amazing girl with whom I was infatuated. I asked her to go to a Valentine's Day dance, and she just laughed."

"What a bitch," Miley said, almost smiling at her brothers misfortune. 

"Yeah," he agreed. "I know that doesn't compare to what happened, but I'm just saying that a lot of times people who deserve love don't get it."

"Pete deserved it so much, with his mom, you know."

"I know, and you deserve it too, Miley."

~~

Miley watched a grey haired man level Pete's picture with the other teenagers who had "bravely died in the name of science," as Dr. Harrigan put it.

An unmistakable scarf and grin stood next to her. 

"He deserved better," Miley decided. Ryan knew who she was talking about. 

"Lot's of people deserve better." Miley wasn't sure who Ryan was talking about. 

She turned back to the plaques. It was an attractive picture of Pete. Dr. Harrigan asked friends and family to send in a picture of the deceased, and Miley wasn't sure which category she fell under. He didn't have any family that she knew of, just his estranged mother. However, she'd like to think she was as close as a family should be. She also hoped he really did love her as more than he would a friend.

She sent in a picture from their Teddy Bear Fur concert. They were sat outside the venue, and he was wearing a coat too large for him and a smile that could be described in the same way. 

Miley wondered if Pete thought that was as beautiful a picture as she considered it to be. 

"Yeah, we do."

Miley reckoned that a lot of people deserved a lot of things. Sometimes, you don't realize that until what you're so entitled to goes away. 

End of book.


End file.
